Free Will
by tarsus4survivor
Summary: Naomi brainwashes Castiel into killing Dean. Cas fights it.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: Some suicidal thoughts and actions. Nothing happens though.

* * *

"Cas," there's a plea in Dean's voice, "fight it." The wrist is slipping from Dean's grip and he shifts his hold closer to the blade—the one Cas is holding in both hands. The weapon slips scarily close to Dean's chest, stopping less than inch away. But then Cas's eyes drip with more blood, flashing with clarity, and Dean is hard-pressed to shift from pushing to pulling. He growls, "Stop it, you son of a bitch."

"Dean," Cas says, shaking, streaks of blood running down his face, "Kill me."

"Don't," says Dean, and he has to pull harder to keep the blade from sinking into Cas's chest. It's tearing the fabric of his shirt. Dean pulls with all his might, and it stops, tip shaking. "Don't you dare ask me that."

But then Cas's face hardens and the blade is rushing back towards Dean. Dean ends up on his back, not-Cas pressing the weapon toward his heart. "Cas. When you get control, just drop the blade, okay? Drop it. We'll fix this. I'm gonna get you back."

"Naomi," Cas says, eyes vacant—Dean's not sure he can even hear him—"No," Cas says. And then the blade presses closer to Dean and he screams, "No!" He yanks back and turns the blade on himself.

Dean goes with him, his torso swinging up because his hands are wound around Cas's hands and the hilt of the blade. No way in hell is he letting go. Not until his angel does. "Drop it. Drop the blade. Let go. Don't do this."

Cas's hands shake. Then he shakes his head. "She's too strong." The blood makes it look like he's crying. Maybe he is.

Dean is gritting his teeth he's pulling so hard, but he gets the words out. "She's not. She's not. You're fighting her, Cas, let go." He doesn't even know who 'she' is. He's never heard the name Naomi before. When this is over, he's gonna hunt her down and jam this angel blade through her throat. "Drop the blade. I'll contact Sam, we'll figure this out. Cas—"

But then Cas's eyes go steely and the blade flips again and Dean is being forced back to the floor. He's tiring. Cas is stronger than he is. The blade hits his shirt and pushes it down against his skin. "Cas, you can fight her. You've got this. You're stronger than she is." The tip draws blood. "What does she want? She wants the tablet?"

"Stop," Cas screams. Dean doesn't think it's directed at him. It's an early warning signal though, and the blade starts to recede. Slowly, slowly, slowly, and Dean has to be ready to reverse his momentum in a split-second. "Don't you freakin' dare, Cas. Just drop it." Then the blade is plunging toward Cas's stomach and Dean just manages to pull it to a halt. He opens his mouth, but doesn't get the chance to speak.

"She wants me to kill you," says Cas. "She wants me to kill Sam." His face is twisted in pain and sorrow and despair. "I can't live with that. This is the only way." The blade gives a millimeter and it's poking his shirt again.

Dean needs to shift his grip because it's slipping but he's terrified to lose even a split-second of full force. "You won't. Cas, you won't kill us. You're fighting her. You're beating her. _Let go_. Please, Cas, just let go of it."

Cas snarls and the blade flips back towards Dean. Dean changes tactics. And it's dirty, it's dishonest, it's cruel, but he doesn't care. Anything to stop Cas from killing himself. "It's harder for me to fight you with the blade. You need to drop it. Give me a better chance if you can't control this thing."

That gets through. And instead of pulling against Cas when his eyes go clear, Dean finds his balance completely thrown, the blade coming away clean in his hands. Cas lets go. He lets go and then he drops to the floor, curling in on himself. "Get out, get out, get out," he's sobbing, arms over his head, knees against his chest. "Kill me or get out."

"No way." Dean's not entirely sure what to do with the blade now that he has it. He sort of shifts it in his grip a few times, debating sliding it into his pocket or putting it on the table before deciding to throw it across the room. It clatters against the wall and then the floor. "Cas, look at me." He doesn't get much closer—he has to fight himself not to. The angel doesn't look. Just curls in on himself even more. Dean grits his jaw. Anything. "If I can't see your eyes, I won't know when she gets control. You could kill me before I figure out it's not you."

Cas unfolds his head and looks at him.

Dean stares him down, unnerved by the blood dripping from Cas's reddened eyes, but he doesn't show it. "I'm not leaving, so you can forget about killing yourself while I'm gone." Any hesitation could send this somewhere they can't come back from. Dean needs a way to fight this with him. "Who's Naomi? How is she controlling you?"

Cas shakes his head. Shakes and shakes and doesn't stop. "I don't know."

"She got you out of purgatory?"

"I—I… maybe?"

"What does she want? Why's she wanna kill us?"

"Just you. I… lied about Sam. I thought maybe…"

"That I would kill you if it meant saving him?"

Cas's eyes flick away. And then his face goes blank and he's rising in one fluid movement, going straight for Dean, head forward but his eyes unseeing, hand raised at the height of Dean's throat.

Dean stumbles away. Cas is ignoring the blade, at least. Dean was expecting him to bolt for it, thinking maybe he could tackle him or something when he did. "Cas, fight it. You got this."

Cas stops his approach. He screams. He drops to his knees, face twisting.

Dean stops backtracking. "Look at me."

Cas's head jerks up.

"What do you know about Naomi?"

His face is pinched in pain. "She's... an angel." Blood streams from his eyes. He folds his arms around his chest, eyes squeezing shut, and just drops.

"Cas?"

Suddenly he's back up, face stone, mouth in a hard line. "I have to kill you." His head tilts. Cas and so very not-Cas at the same time. "It'll be quick. It's always quick."

Chills roll down Dean's spine. He steps backwards, arms raised defensively. That voice is off. "Cas?"

"You're not him. You're not him. You're not him." The angel mutters to himself.

"Cas, it's me. It's Dean."

"You're just a copy. Number—" his voice hitches—"Nine-thousand fifty four."

"Oh god." Dean is glad that he can't fully comprehend what's going on. He's also horrified at the implications. "Cas. It's me. This is real."

Cas flinches like he's been struck. "No, Naomi, I wasn't…"

"Cas, fight it."

Cas's face curls, eyes pinching but still vacant, looking at nothing. "Please, no. No. Please, no."

"What's goin' on, Cas? You talkin' to her?"

Cas steps forward. Dean somehow gets the table between them.

"I'm sorry," Cas says, "It'd be quicker with a blade."

"Cas, this is real. We're here." Dean lifts his sleeve and puts his hand over the handprint raised into his skin. "You feel this?"

Cas jerks backward like he's been electrocuted, shaking down to one knee. "Naomi, please." His eyes start leaking more blood and Dean knows by now that that means he's coming out of it.

"You got this, Cas. She's not here."

Cas drops with a sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Get out!"

Dean pulls out his phone, calling Sam, putting it on speaker on the table. "Cas, you got this. You're so damn strong. Don't give up. You got this. Just remember this is real, okay? This is real and I need you."

Sam answers. "Yeah?"

"Cas is being mind-whammied by some angel called Naomi. I need you to find her or something to break her control right now."

"Dean, get out! Sam, I'll kill him. I'll kill him. Get him out!"

"What's going on?!"

"Nothing. Just find Naomi or a sigil or a spell or _something_." Cas uncurls, movements robotic. "Gotta go." Dean hangs up.

Cas is up in a single blink, hand wrapping around Dean's throat.

"Cas," Dean chokes, "Cas don't do this. It's really me. Naomi's screwing with your head."

"They all say that." Cas flinches again. Presses his mouth into a hard line and squeezes tighter.

Dean shoves and kicks and strains but can't get free. His struggles weaken. He's right next to the table. Right next to the guns hitched to the underside. He snags one. Not sure which one. He tries to bang it on Cas's head but can't reach. His vision goes spotty. He shoots Cas's leg and the angel drops him with a cry. Dean falls to the ground, coughing, struggling for breath.

"Dean, just kill me."

Dean struggles to sit up. "Shut the hell up, Cas. Tell me what you know about what's going on."

Cas is in a ball on the floor again, shaking and scared. "She made me kill you. Over and over and over again. And when I didn't, she would torture you to death. She would take me into a back room and…" his hand drifts up to his bloody face, "drill through my eye and into my brain. I don't know what she did to me. I can see her. I'm there with her but I'm here with you and I don't know what's real."

"Okay." Cas isn't putting any pressure on his gunshot. It's fritzing blue. He's probably hoping to bleed out. Dean shrugs from his jacket and goes forward to wrap the fabric around the wound. "I'm sorry for shooting you."

Cas scrambles to his feet, eyes wide with fear. He stumbles backward. "You did what you had to. It's my fault, Dean, just ki—"

Dean throws the gun across the room. "No!"

But then Cas hardens and he springs forward, tackling Dean all the way down. They wrestle on the floor, Cas trying to wrap hands around Dean's throat and bang his head against the floor and beat him unconscious. Dean fights back, because he knows Cas can take it. Knows Cas would kill himself if he really hurt Dean. He's talking to him, reminding him this is real. "You're family, Cas. We need you. Please. Fight her."

They roll across the floor as each tries to gain the upper hand. And then one of Cas's hands brushes the angel tablet and he freezes, face clearing. He releases Dean like he's a snake about to bite and he's across the room with the tablet in three seconds, his hands wrapped tightly around it.

Dean sits up, fingers brushing a cut on his lip. "She wants the tablet?"

Cas shakes his head. He squeezes the tablet tighter, burying it against his chest. "She's gone. I can't—she's gone." His eyes close. They open, landing on Dean, "I should heal you."

"I'm fine, just bruises. You okay?" His leg's still bleeding.

Cas won't look at him. "You should go." He shifts, pulling upright, "I should go."

Dean snaps forward and grabs his arm, "Don't you dare."

The phone starts ringing. Dean's not about to let go of Cas to go and get it. "That's Sam. Maybe he found something."

Cas shakes his head, eyes distant, but his face is soft. "No. He's… praying. He's on his way here." The angel's head shutters down, "He's worried about you and..." his eyes pinch in surprised confusion.

Dean tightens his grip on the angel's sleeve. "And you."

Cas clutches the tablet closer. "She's gone," he whispers, eyes closing.

Dean pulls him toward the table, wary of another turn of control. "Come on. We'll let Sammy know we're okay."

The phone has stopped ringing by the time they get there. Dean calls Sam and he picks up right away. Dean puts it on speaker. "Dean. What's going on? You okay? Cas okay? Talk to me." Sam sounds frantic.

"We're fine for now." Dean looks at the bloody tear streaks on Cas's face, his death hold on the tablet and amends, "Sort of." He sits Cas down at the table and switches his hold on the angel from his arm to his leg, scrutinizing the gunshot wound.

Cas tries to jerk away. "Leave it."

"What happened?" Sam asks.

Dean's wary of losing his grip with Cas kicking like that so he gets up from his crouch and shifts his hold to Cas's shoulder, squeezing it. "Cas is being mind-controlled or something, I don't know. By the angel Naomi. Looks like maybe the angel tablet broke her hold. You find anything on her?" Dean folds his sleeve over his hand and wipes at the horrific tracks down Cas's face. Cas flinches. The blood soaks Dean's sleeve.

"I was too busy freaking out about you guys."

"Well, that's helpful." Dean uses a clear place higher up on the sleeve.

"Shut up."

Cas's eyes are closed. He's shuddering with breath, fingers white around the stone, head curled down around it. Dean squeezes his shoulder again.

"I'm almost there. What did you say about the tablet?"

"Cas touched it and came out of… whatever it was."

"She's gone," Cas whispers.

"Okay," says Sam, "I'm pulling up right now, I'll see you in a second." The phone clicks.

A few moments later, the door squeaks open and then Sam is barreling down the stairs. He comes to a halt a few feet away, face curling, "Ah, man. You guys okay?"

Dean is still rubbing at Cas's face. His voice is gruffer than he intends. "We're fine. Come here."

Sam comes forward and Dean snags his sleeve, pulling him toward Cas, setting his hand on the angel's shoulder. "Don't let go of him. God knows what'll happen if he flutters off alone. I'm putting him on suicide watch."

Sam's fingers twist in Cas's sleeve, eyes wide, "Sui—what?"

Dean turns to head down the hall. "You heard me. Don't give him any weapons. Don't leave him alone. Don't let go. I'm gonna go get the first aid kit." he says, "And some towels."

Dean is halfway down the hall when he hears Sam's voice, soft and shaking, "Cas?"

Dean gets the supplies quickly.

When he gets back, Sam is crouched in front of Cas, hand still on his shoulder, his other hand rubbing the angel's arm. He looks up briefly at Dean's approach. "Are we sure it's the tablet?"

"I think so," says Cas.

Dean nods.

Sam looks down at the stone in Cas's hands. "And what happens if you stop touching it? Does… will you go back to… What happens?"

"I don't know."

Dean doesn't either.

Sam glances between them. "Maybe we should check it out. Because if she's gone-gone, then we don't necessarily have to worry about fixing anything immediately, right?"

"Right," says Dean. "We just have to find her and gank her."

"Okay. So let's just…" Sam carefully pulls the tablet from Cas, and the angel doesn't seem to change. He is hesitant to let go, though.

Then there's a sharp sound from behind Dean and like an idiot he turns. It's a fallen picture.

Cas rips from Sam's grip, sprints forward, and tackles Dean from behind. He twists their forms so Dean is on his back on the ground. His fingers wrap around Dean's throat.

"Holy shit." Sam scrambles after them, tablet in hand, shoving it at Cas. "Take it, take it."

It hits Cas's hand and blood streams from his eyes as he crumples to the side, fingers wrapping around it. He pulls the stone to his chest, sobbing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He buries his face, "Kill me."

"Oh god," says Sam, hands twitching toward Cas crumpled on the floor and then Dean coughing beside him, the elder Winchester's trembling fingers are latching onto the angel's coat, and it's clear that Sam doesn't know what to do. "What, uh… You guys okay?"

"I told you don't let go of him." Dean rasps.

"Sorry."

Cas lifts his hands, angel tablet and all, and touches Dean's face. Dean's breath clears. Cas sinks back in on himself. "She's too… she's too strong. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault Cas. Let's fix your leg up."

"Leave it." Cas hides his face again.

Dean shakes his head. "No way." He tightens his grip on Cas. He rolls onto his side and then up to his knees, pulling at Cas, "Get up, come on."

Sam presses in at Cas's other side. They lead him back over to the table.


	2. Chapter 2

"You sure this is it?" Dean asks Sam as they pull up to the house-it's more like a mansion than anything. Big and dark and old.

"I'm sure."

Castiel is clutching the tablet in the backseat. Clutching so hard Dean worries his fingers are going to fall off. His eyes have stopped bleeding at least. And he's promised not to flutter off alone, to give them time to fix this.

Dean's not quite sure he believes the angel. He yanks the keys from the ignition and cocks his colt. Seven shots. He has seven shots. "Okay," Dean says, voice gruffer than he intends it to be. He glances sideways. "Stay in the car with Cas."

Sam's face twists in outrage, mouth opening, "Like—" he cuts himself off, swallowing hard, glancing into the backseat.

Cas is breathing hard. Panting. Eyes closed. Fingers about to snap off.

"Okay," Sam says, shoulders falling.

Dean nods once. "Okay," he echoes back. He pops the handle of the car. Gravel shifts below his feet. Creepy old mansion houses. Dean hates them.

"I'll give you ten minutes," Sam says, "and then I'm comin' after you."

"Sure." Dean shoves the car door closed, mentally apologizing to Baby. "Okay," he says. The metal of his gun is cold in his hand. Seven rounds. Old house. Get in, get out. Simple.

God, gravel sounds so loud. They should get gravel and spread it like a moat around that bunker they found. Make an early warning system. Not that you could hear with walls that thick. Dean is partial to the idea anyway.

Seven rounds. Dean walks up the steps. Concrete, and they're still peeling away from each other. Tipping away from the house like they've been slowly trying to escape for years.

It's a creaky old door, one desperate to fall off but stuck to the wall with one last hinge. Whoever thought to leave everything to rot so it's loud as hell is some kind of evil genius.

Marble floors and Dean's boots clack across them no matter how lightly he steps. He holds his colt firmly in both hands, aimed at the floor just in front of him, ready to pull up in a split second. Seven rounds.

"Come on in, darling. We don't bite."

Dean shoulders through another door. Some sort of parlor room, this looks like. Devoid of furniture but for a sharp, lonely lamp in the corner. There's a circle of fire in the floor—the side and not the corner where Dean's expecting. Crowley smirks outside of it. "Got a group of teenagers to summon her, can you believe it?"

"Yeah," Dean says, almost-mockingly. "Thanks."

"Oh it was no trouble. She didn't want to barter with _me_, you see. I wanted to give her a little taste of what that's like."

Dean ignores Crowley for the most part, focusing instead on the angel in the circle. Short with short hair. A jagged haircut, akin to teeth. Her face is unreadable. She's scanning Dean. Analyzing him, eyes small. Naomi.

"Thanks," Dean says again to Crowley. An invitation to leave.

Crowley frowns. "Whatever. Shoot her for me, would you?" He disappears.

Dean pulls his gun up. Seven rounds. Seven angel-bullet rounds. Made from a melted down angel blade. Crowley's idea, actually. "Who are you and what the hell are you doing to Cas?"

"Castiel?" She asks, voice high and light and oh-so-fake. She gives a sad little sigh, eyebrows pulling together, mouth drooping, "Oh I'm afraid he's been acting rather strange."

Dean growls. "I'm not playin', lady."

Her eyes widen. It's almost comical. Would be comical. Cas blood is all over Dean's sleeve, the image of Cas clutching the tablet like he'd clutched Dean's hand in purgatory just before he let go. Like he should've clutched Dean's hand.

Dean shoots her—just the leg. She'll live. "What the fuck have you done to Cas?"

She's like a rat baring buck teeth with that hair, curling her burning-blue-leg in and refusing to fall. Dean shot her in the same place he shot Cas. He likes the symmetry. "Dean, I haven't done anything," Naomi says. "He went berserk after purgatory. I don't think he's all there."

"Shut up," Dean growls. He's an inch away from killing her and Sam only gave him ten minutes. A lot can be done in the minutes he has left.

* * *

Dean walks out of the house, sliding past the desperate door and the failed-to-escape concrete steps. Back over the gravel walkway and into the car, Baby welcoming him with familiar seats and the feeling of the steering wheel below his hands.

Sam is giving him a look. Wary, almost. "So?"

Dean doesn't look back. "So it was just her. No spell or nothin'. She won't be bothering us anymore."

Cas is trembling still. His fingers are starting to bruise, Dean can see as he glances in the rearview mirror. And then he moves the glance to over the seat. "You can let go," Dean says.

Cas's fingers twitch but they're still white-knuckling the stone. "I'm not sure I can," he murmurs.

Dean shifts his form, leaning farther into the back. "She's gone, Cas. No more whispers in your head, no more not knowing what's real. Here on out, everything is real."

Cas nods slowly. He glances down. His hands twitch. "My fingers are stuck," he says.

So Dean pops the handle and walks over the gravel and tilts into the backseat. He pries at Cas's hands, pulling the tablet away from him. "You can let go."

Cas's hands follow the stone as Dean tugs it through the door. Cas pulls them back in and they drop into his lap. He stares down at them. Definitely bruised.

"You okay?" Dean asks. And god, did he gargle gravel this morning? What is that? He clears his throat. "Cas?"

"Yeah," breathes Cas. "I…I think I will be."

Tires rattle the gravel road as they pull away, escaping the creepy old mansion and never looking back.


End file.
